Life Under Fire
by LadyDivine91
Summary: After years of trying to make his way on Broadway, Blaine found his calling in a place his husband Kurt would have never expected - as a firefighter. Living in Southern California, fire season can be treacherous. There's always one call that makes him consider throwing in the towel. Tonight's call is one of those. Klaine. Kurt H. Blaine A.


_**Written for Prompt 1: Hurt/comfort fic where Blaine is a fireman and goes on a call that ends badly, with a little inspiration from the show 'This Is Us'.**_

Kurt knows when his husband comes home, knows when his SUV reaches the end of the driveway long before he pulls it into the garage. After forty-eight hours away, Kurt's whole body becomes hyper aware of him - from his key sliding into the lock, to his footsteps on the wood floor, to the exhaustion-laced intake of his breathing, and, sometimes, the smell of wood smoke in the air. Even if Blaine takes the time to shower at the station before he heads home, smoke has a way of clinging to his hair and his skin, seeping into his clothes like an overused cologne …

… especially when Blaine has been immersed in it.

The Ander-Hummel family had been fortunate. They hadn't had to contend with that smell for the first part of the year. Winter had lasted longer than normal, spring had been mild. Even the beginning of summer had been kind. A few flare-ups – one electrical fire contained to a well-insulated garage; one grease fire that began hot but burned down on its own; one car overheating on the highway, stopped in the second lane on a day with no wind so it didn't spread to the outlying brush. But that lucky streak ended with a vengeance when morning temperatures soared into triple digits, and drought-ravaged landscapes started catching fire at the drop of a hat.

Or a cigarette.

Kurt checks his cell phone for missed calls or messages. A second later, he checks again. Nothing. Not a word. Not an 'I'm alright'. Not an 'I love you'. And definitely not a 'Be home soon', which Kurt has been waiting for for hours. It's been a long night for Kurt. A longer night for Blaine, he knows, but with Blaine in the thick of work, at least he has something to occupy his thoughts.

Kurt has nothing but his thoughts, and that makes shifts like this one a nightmare.

Kurt didn't pace or fuss while their daughter Tracy was awake. He kept his calm façade intact for her sake. But she's a smart girl. At only six, she knows what's up, hence the constant sneaking off to her parent's room to check the emergency scanner under the guise of using the bathroom.

If she genuinely had to pee as much as she claimed she did that night, Kurt should take her to see a doctor.

So apparently his adorable daughter had created a façade, too; one that hid her fear as skillfully as Kurt's hid his. This way, Kurt presumed, he wouldn't have to worry about her while he was busy worrying about Blaine. Kurt was proud of Tracy for it, but it made him sad, too. A girl Tracy's age shouldn't have to worry about making life easy for her father. He should be cradling her in his arms and reassuring her that everything is going to be alright.

And he intended to, once he knew everything would be alright.

The second he put Tracy to bed, his vigil began.

Kurt thought he'd eventually become used to this. He'd be the cool spouse, the strong spouse, who had so much faith in his husband's abilities that several days alone would become old hat for him. In fact, he'd enjoy it. He'd clean, he'd organize, he'd get so much stuff done!

But that's not the way this works.

Not in Southern California, where they have one thing that other states Kurt has lived in don't.

Wildfire season.

As far as Kurt could tell from what he heard over the scanner, there were no really worrisome fires burning that night. Blaine had only recently returned from fighting a big fire in L.A. But before Kurt could settle into the idea of Blaine home and safe, he was called out again. Not as far as L.A., but somewhere remote. Somewhere Kurt won't get many updates. Somewhere Blaine's phone service cuts out even on a good day.

When 3 a.m. rolled around, Kurt was sure he wouldn't see his husband until the afternoon, but he's here. He's finally home, which means he's alive.

And the last thing he needs to see is Kurt pacing like a mother hen.

As relieved as Kurt feels, the living room becomes heavier when Blaine limps into it, and though he looks like whatever happened to his leg hurts like hell, he walks right past the first chair in the room and into his husband's arms, resting his weight on him, giving Kurt his burden to bear for a little while.

"It's alright," are the first words past Kurt's lips, but they mean so much more. They mean I love you, and I'm so happy to see you, and thank God you're home! Do you know how worried I was? But Kurt's prayers have been answered. His husband is home. Now's the time for Blaine to recover from whatever happened tonight.

Kurt doesn't push. He takes his cue from Blaine. He rubs his husband's back until Blaine's grip on his body loosens and his chest stops shuddering.

"Do you want to talk about it?"

Blaine's breathing hitches, a kneejerk response on his lips, but he doesn't give it. A few false starts later, he says, "No … Yes … I …"

"Come on. Why don't we sit? You must be exhausted." Kurt tries to step out of Blaine's embrace, but Blaine refuses to let go, so Kurt walks them over to the sofa and sits them both down. "Deep breaths. Just … take your time. Whenever you're ready to talk, I'm ready to listen."

Blaine nods. He adjusts his position on the cushion, maneuvering Kurt so he stays close beside him. Blaine is unbearably handsome in this low light, and Kurt missed him so. All he wants to do is kiss the pain away, kiss him so he forgets everything. But just when Kurt decides to do just that, Blaine speaks.

"We …" He stops. His voice sounds ragged, like he's been crying. He takes a breath in through his nose and clears his throat, but it doesn't help. "We were called to a house fire. Just … just a stupid house fire, burning for a while with no reported complications. It was located up past Julian, so it took us a while to get there - traffic and whatnot. We probably could have let it burn itself out. There were no other structures around. It was practically rubble when we got there."

"Was it empty?" Kurt asks, hoping against hope that something else is making Blaine's throat tense up and his shoulders shake. Maybe he hit a dog on the way home. That coupled with a long two days away from home might make him emotional.

Blaine shakes his head.

Kurt sighs.

No such luck.

"There was a family – mom, dad, two sons and a daughter. Triplets. Can you imagine? The dad woke up to the smell of smoke." Blaine looks at his husband, his cheeks damps, a poignancy in his eyes Kurt doesn't understand. "He went from room to room, rescued his kids and his wife."

"Sounds like someone I know," Kurt says, hoping for a smile. He gets one, but it doesn't last long.

"They were out of the house, Kurt. They were safe. All that was left for them to do was sit back and watch their house burn, right? But no. He goes back for the cat! The damn cat! I mean, it's a cat! I love animals as much as the next guy, but you're out of the house and alive! Leave it behind!" An indignant meow scolds Blaine from over his right shoulder. He turns his head and sees the thoughtful green eyes of their tortoise shell kitty glaring at him in the dark. "No offense, Brian," Blaine says, pausing to reach out and offer their pet a scratch between the ears. Brian accepts, tilting his chin up and purring loudly. Content with Blaine's apology, Brian leaps off the couch and leaves him to finish his story. "The cat belonged to his daughter, so I get him going in after it … but I don't get it. The life of a parent outweighs the life of a pet any day. But he came through the front door with that cat in his arms right as we pulled up, and I'll tell you … I went a little teary eyed. He looked like a superhero. And it wasn't for show. He was a genuine guy. Compassionate. Humble. He reminded me of Finn, the way you used to describe him back in high school, remember? Like Superman?"

"Yeah. I remember," Kurt says, his heart sinking with the feeling that he knows where this story is headed, and why it hit Blaine so hard.

Kurt's stepbrother Finn meant the world to both of them.

He died a year after graduating high school.

"He was healthy, Kurt. He was strong. We sat around with him for a bit, joking while EMTs took his vitals. He was tired but in good spirits. He looked fine. He mentioned something about being between jobs, and we tossed around the idea of him joining the department. Captain even invited him out for a beer. They took him back to the hospital as a precaution, because of the amount of smoke he'd inhaled. That's all. It wasn't until we got back to the station that we heard."

Kurt puts a hand over Blaine's. Blaine looks as steadfast and strong as he always does, but Kurt feels him trembling straight down to his shoes. "Heard what?"

Blaine takes a breath, then another, gulping hard to keep from sobbing. "He's … he's dead, Kurt. The ER doctor said he had something wrong with his heart, something he was most likely born with. According to his wife, he never knew. But after inhaling all that smoke, he went into cardiac arrest. It happened the second they rolled him into the hospital. And … they lost him. There was literally nothing they could do. Had they known about it earlier, if he'd had it treated, maybe he would have had a chance." Blaine looks at Kurt, disbelief deepening the lines in his face, lines that hadn't been there three short years ago. "Kurt - it took the blink of an eye. He went in and out of that fire what? Five times, and not a scratch. Not even a burn worth mentioning. The man was barely in his thirties. He had a wife and three children, and now … they have to live the rest of their lives without him."

Kurt leans in, rests his head on his husband's shoulder. Before he says anything, he offers a small prayer of thanks to anyone who might be listening that his husband came out of this okay. That he's here sitting beside him, telling him this story, instead of Kurt getting that phone call he dreads will someday come. "I'm so sorry, Blaine."

Blaine sniffles. "Don't feel bad for me. Feel bad for those kids who have to grow up without a dad."

"But I do feel bad for you. This obviously affected you."

"Same crap, different day, you know?"

"I know. And I know that what I'm about to say is going to sound horrible, but you can't save everyone, no matter how much you want to. That man - he made the decision to go back into that house. Even without knowing about his heart, he understood the risks of running into a burning house."

"But maybe … maybe if we'd gotten there a few minutes earlier ..."

"I'm not a doctor …" Kurt hugs Blaine harder, trying his best to hold him together "… but I don't think that you guys showing up late made a difference. It was the smoke he'd been breathing that triggered the cardiac arrest. It was in the air while he rescued his family. Unless you could somehow psychically know that house was going to light on fire, and could get there before it happened, there's no way you guys arriving sooner would have done any good."

"But he was fine, Kurt," Blaine insists softly. "Everyone was fine. This … this was a victory. And then, out of nowhere, it was pulled out from under our feet."

"I know. I know what that feels like," Kurt whispers, the memory of his own pulled rug fresh in his mind after decades. After his father survived his first heart attack, then his second, then his first cancer scare, then his second, Kurt thought he had his ducks accounted for, lined in neat little rows where he could keep an eye on them, anticipate their every move, make sure they stayed safe. But there was one duck he hadn't accounted for. No one had. While Kurt was worrying about his father, out of nowhere, his stepbrother – one of the strongest, healthiest men he knew – died. It came out of the blue, without any warning.

Kurt has been haunted by what ifs ever since.

"I … I just don't know how much longer I can do this, Kurt. I don't know how much longer I can give my all and still fail, especially when the price might be someone's life."

"What do you want to do?" Kurt asks, excitement tying his stomach in knots. Blaine mentions retiring from time to time. He usually sleeps on it, then brushes it away, but it's been coming up more frequently. Kurt hopes that's a good sign. "Do you want to try something else? Go back to music? Teaching? You know that whatever you want to do, I'll support you 100%."

Blaine folds his hands in his lap and stares at his laced fingers, the thought of quitting so weighted, it bows his shoulders. "I can't … I can't quit. You know the department's strapped for firefighters as it is."

"The department may be strapped now, but there will always be recruits. You're my priority. What do you want to do?"

Blaine continues staring at his hands, confusion and frustration embedded in every inch of his body. "I want my life to mean something."

"Oh, honey. It does mean something. You mean everything to me and Tracy."

"I want it to mean something to me. I gave up acting and music because I thought … I thought there was something better. That there was something more important I was meant to do. But what if I was wrong? What if I'm putting us through all of this stress and heartache for nothing?"

"Well, if you were wrong, better to figure it out now, right? While you're young and healthy. While Tracy's little enough that uprooting her whole life and moving her to, say, New York, won't have too much of an effect on her."

"Yeah," Blaine agrees, albeit halfheartedly. "Yeah, you're right. That's … that's something I should consider. It really is."

"And … will you consider it?"

Blaine looks at Kurt, his eyes shimmering with hope, and smiles. "Yes. It is. I promise, it is. To tell you the truth, I consider it all the time – you, me, and Tracy, going back to our old neighborhood, maybe even our old loft, putting her in one off those niche elementary schools in The Village while we go back to writing musicals only you and I were ever meant to star in. Hmm." Blaine chuckles, relaxing with the memory. "Wouldn't that be a life?"

"Yeah." Kurt kisses Blaine on the forehead as his eyelids grow heavy, sorrow finally taking its toll. "That would be a life." Kurt would love that. He would love it if Blaine woke up in the morning and decided to retire from the fire department. If he went back to writing music and playing at coffee shops until the world realized what an amazingly talented man he was.

But that's not the man Blaine is anymore.

Kurt remembers the day Blaine decided to become a firefighter. That day, and the whole week leading up to it, was a perfect storm Kurt never foresaw.

Kurt and Blaine thought they had their plans cemented back in high school – back in the days when they knew everything.

A shoebox apartment.

NYADA.

And Broadway.

That's what they wanted, down to the letter.

And they tried. They gave it everything they had. They auditioned for every role in every new musical or play. They got some background parts, mainly non-speaking roles, but, in the end, they were drowning. They had to sell Kurt's designer clothes and some of Blaine's guitars to pay their rent, and they ate whatever the church down the block handed out once a week. Then, one day, Blaine walked through a commercial shoot, and he was discovered. Hired on the spot to star in the pilot for a brand new TV show filming in Los Angeles.

Since their lease was up anyway, they packed their things and moved. It stung Kurt to think that they had no future in New York, a future he'd been dreaming of most of his life, but he held on to the hope that they'd make their way back.

Living in L.A. worked out for a while. They got everything they wanted, only not in the ways they'd wanted it. Kurt didn't have the same luck finding work in the entertainment industry, but he continued designing, continued sewing, rebuilding his iconic wardrobe with his own creations. He gained a sizable following online and began taking commissions. He became something of a social media influencer. Every day, companies offered him tens of thousands to post their products on his Instagram feed.

The day Kurt's old boss Isabelle offered him a center spread in Vogue highlighting up-and-coming independent designers, Kurt knew he'd succeeded.

Blaine had become a success, too, but Kurt noticed him start to drift. Blaine said that he was happy, but he didn't seem happy. There were days Kurt swore Blaine had been happier in their New York loft, struggling between school and work to pay their electric bill, than he was as the lead on a breakout sit-com.

After they adopted Tracy, Kurt thought things would get better. And they did. Blaine loves Tracy. He's an incredible father. But during the times he spent alone, things started falling apart.

He didn't know how to love his life when he was alone.

They almost lost their house, and probably could have lost their lives, when a scented candle caught one of their kitchen curtains on fire. Blaine and Kurt got Tracy out of the house mere seconds before the fire trucks pulled up. The three of them stood out front and watched the blaze Blaine thought would devour everything they owned snuffed out within minutes. In those moments of uncertainty, and then triumph, something in Blaine clicked.

A sense of purpose.

He remained mum about it for weeks, mulling it over, thinking about the ramifications of leaving his television career behind to become a firefighter. By the time he told Kurt, one thing was certain.

Blaine had found his calling.

The network renegotiated his contract numerous times before reluctantly agreeing to write him out of his show. Roughly four months and six-hundred hours of training later, Blaine was a full-fledged firefighter. And he was good at it, straight from go. Blaine earned less than he did as an actor, but they had more than they did as fresh faced high school graduates living in the city.

At least then, even when the pipes froze over and they had next to nothing to eat, Kurt slept better at night.

Better than he'll sleep tonight.

Blaine, on the other hand, will sleep like the dead. He'll use the next few days to re-evaluate his life. He'll fix some stuff around the house that doesn't necessarily need fixing. He'll help Kurt in the garden and make cookies with Tracy. He may even write a song or two.

He'll be happy. Or he'll look it from the outside.

But knowing Blaine, he'll slough this off the way he has a thousand times before, and the next time his cell phone rings, he'll go back to work.

And Kurt will go back to pacing the floor, waiting for his husband to come home.


End file.
